Friendship last forever
by A Love Poet at Heart
Summary: Sequel to Facade, but can be read alone. Enjolras realizes he has feelings for the Drunkard. He also realizes he has seen him before, a long time ago, in a village far far away...Enjolras and Grantaire slash.


Enjolras stopped in his tracks. He forgot a book in the café. In his haste to get out he had dropped a book he needed for exams in a few days. There was only one option, to go back for it. If he continues home, most likely someone will pick it up, call ownership and then sell it for a pretty penny. If he wanted to see the book again he needed to go back.

Enjolras turned onto a side street and went the long way back to the café. He needed to think, plus avoiding the tarts seemed like a nice idea. Why is this happening to him? And towards Grantaire of all people? There was just something…attractive and familiar about him. As if he was looking into an old dream. A lovely old dream he used to love and care for.

Enjolras turned the corner and he was in front of the café. The café was closed, but Enjolras had a key. He entered in through the back door, which lead straight into their usual meeting room. He had the key made as insurance. Just in case there was ever a need to get out, or in, without making as much noise as it would going through the front way.

Inside there was no one. Grantaire had left a bit after Enjolras. There was nothing else he wanted to do other than cry and drink. Since there was no more wine in the backroom, he left to cry in the privacy of his own apartment. Enjolras picked up his book from under the table he usually sat at and left.

To get back to his flat he needed to cross over the Seine. The café was not that far from it. His flat was only a few streets from the bridge.

Enjolras turned the corner he had turned unto the first time to find it free from any lovely ladies. He continued down the way to the bridge. There weren't that many people on the street, but he could tell there was someone on the bridge. He was far away and couldn't tell if he know the man. But he could tell that the man was sitting on top of the side of the bridge.

Enjolras speed up his step. That person could fall in to the water. If a person was to they would die. The water is very treacherous; a person could be pulled under in only a few seconds. As Enjolras grew closer he could tell he was no stranger to the man on the bridge. It was Grantaire.

"Grantaire," Enjolras screamed as he started to run towards the bridge, "Get down!"

"Why? Why should I get down? Death seems better than living with you hating me very waking second!" Grantaire was holding a bottle of wine. He took a drink and drained the last remaining drops. With no more use to him, R chucked it into the river, it landed with a wet plop.

Enjolras was now on the bridge. He took a few steps towards R with the utmost caution, "I don't hate you."

"No, no, liar! Admit it, you hate me! And you take all possible opportunities to show it!" Grantaire was slurring his words as talked and got up onto his wobbly legs. He was acting out his words with outrageous hand gestures and every time R did this Enjolras got scared. "'Grantaire, you're an insolent drunk. Leave me alone.' You said that just last week!"

Grantaire was getting closer to the edge of the railing. "Sit back down, R. Please."

"Oh, 'please', would you really care if I died? As you always say, I'm just an impediment to revolution."

"Grantaire."

"'You believe in nothing'. Ha, I believe in you. I believed in you even when you put me down, threw me off chairs, and made fun of me."

"Grantaire, just come off the railing. We can talk this out like gentleman." Enjolras said this while taking a small step towards the railing. His outstretched hand looked so welcoming to R, but he knew it was a lie. Just as always, Enjolras would lure him into a false sense of comfort before crushing it. Enjolras didn't care. He never cared.

"'Leave me alone, Grantaire. Can't you do that? Can you do at least one thing correct and leave me alone?! Insolent drunk.' Does that sound like a gentleman speaking to you? No? I thought not. You said you wanted to be left alone and I think I should honor that wish. Ha, for once I'm doing something 'correct'"

The mocking tone in R's final words made Enjolras want to take back those words. But what good could that do after they are said? Sure, Enjolras had said some really nasty things about the drunkard, but he never really wanted him dead. Enjolras looked helplessly up at his friend, if you could call him that. "Please," he murmured.

"'Grantaire, you're incapable of belief, of thought, of will, of life, and of death.' Let's see if you're right about the last one by testing it, shall we?"

Grantaire kept his eyes on Enjolras as he stepped off the bridge. Enjolras could not stand by and let this man die, a man that he realized that he loved. As R stepped off the bridge Enjolras rushed forward. He managed to grab R's right arm before he was totally engulfed in the blackness of the pit below.

R was naturally stunned. He thought this would be like all the other times Enjolras had put him down and offered to pull him back up. What was the difference? All of those times it was with words, not actions.

"Help…me" Enjolras forced out those words through his clenched teeth. R grabbed Enjolras' arm and with the help of Enjolras pulled himself up and over the railing. Enjolras tumbled backwards with R on top of him. Enjolras' hands and arms were shaking badly. R wrapped his arms around Enjolras' neck.

He cared. Enjolras cared about Grantaire so much he saved him. R was overjoyed. "Thank you," R murmured into Enjolras' hair, "thank you so much." Enjolras did not return the hug. He pushed R off of him and got up. R fell on to his back.

"Wait, stop!" R tried to get up but failed. Enjolras turned around and looked at him. The moon silhouetted the youth to make him look truly like an angel. But Enjolras turned away. He turned and, even though was shaking, tried to grab his messenger bag he had dropped earlier. "Enjolras!" Enjolras was almost off the bridge when R had managed to pull himself off of the ground and stumble over to Enjolras.

"Why did you save me?" R grabbed Enjolras' shoulder and turned his hero to face himself. He repeated the question, "Why, why now of all times?"

Enjolras looked him in the eyes. His light sky blue eyes meet with the green brown mix of Grantaire's. If he could he would have told Grantaire it was out of love, but he couldn't. What would the other Amis think? In Enjolras mind, they would lose their respect for their leader if they ever found out. They believed Enjolras to be incapable to love another human being, man or woman, and that is what made him a great leader. To Enjolras if they found out that would be lost. They would stop caring what he had to say and just leave. But truly if they were really friends, and they were, they would support the blonde leader. They wouldn't care if he had one lover or, like Courfeyrac, an ever changing cycle of them. They wouldn't even care if the feelings were towards people of the same sex or not. He was their leader; nothing could change that about him. Not even death.

Enjolras looked down from the piercing eyes of the man who returned his love. R was one of the most unkempt men in all of Paris. Most of the time the drunkard was wearing clothes stained in wine and were wrinkled beyond comprehension. His normal hairstyle was oily and unkempt. His face was as unshaven as the rest of him was in need of a bath. Yet, beyond all of this Enjolras still had feeling for the man. Even though he just discovered they were for his past sober self, he still could love the unkempt man before him.

Enjolras still hadn't answered the question and he truly wasn't ever going to. Enjolras stretched out left hand, curled his fingers around the right thumb of R's hand and outstretched his own thumb as if R would suddenly remember and reciprocate the old handshake. "You once were a good man, Grantaire. And I still believe just a little bit of that man is left still deep inside you." With that Enjolras let go of R and walked away into the night.

Nicolas shook Marcelin's hand, but they weren't positioned in the normal way most people shake hands with each other. Nicolas' right hand was extended into Marcelin's left. His hand was turned upside down and his fingers were wrapped around his best friend's thumb. His own thumb was in the same condition, extended and in Marcelin's own grasp.

"I really wish I didn't have to go, Nic. I don't know what I will do in Paris without you." Marcelin looked into Nic's sad brown eyes, "it will so dreadfully boring with only my parents to talk to, and you know how they can be."

"Marcelin, with your speech-making skills—"

"Oratory skills"

Nicolas eyes suddenly warmed up and he softly cuffed the blonde on the shoulder. "Stop correcting me! I told you months ago I like how I speak and I will not change my language to sound better than it is."

The blonde smiled nervously. "I know, I'm just so nervous. I know you always say I make good speeches and what not, but I'm scared. What if I can't convince them? Paris is a lot different from here!" Marcelin gestured to their current setting. It was in the park near the edge of the town. The town wasn't that large, but had was somewhat close knit. That was the reason his parent's wanted to raise Marcelin there instead of Paris or another bigger city.

"But you can, I believe in you." Nicolas grabbed Marce's shoulders and looked him in the eyes, "you have the power to make anyone fall off that cliff over there if you want. Hell, you could lead almost fifty people to their death and they wouldn't ever care."

Marcelin looked Nicolas in the eyes with a straight and unemotional face. "Jump off that cliff," he said pointing to the cliff Nic had just pointed out.

"Alright, adieu, see you in heaven, mon ami." Nic turned and took a few steps towards the cliff before Marcelin grabbed his hand and turned him around.

Laughing, the Marcelin threw his arms around his best friend. "Thank you, Nicolas. You have changed my life in more ways than one."

"Same here, I don't know what I will do when you are gone."

A carriage came noisily up the road towards the pair. "Marcelin, it's time to leave!" His father stuck his head out one of the windows, "we're going to be late for the train!"

"Then I guess that will give you more incentive to save up for the ticket to Paris, hmm?" Marcelin smiled before laying a hand on Nic's shoulder, "I will see you Paris, promise me that, Nic."

"I promise."

They two hugged again. "Au revoir, mon ami." Marcelin turned and broke into a run to catch up his the carriage carrying his parents. He opened the door and jumped inside.

"À bientôt, Marcelin!" The carriage window opened and Marcelin waved from inside. Nicolas started to run after the carriage waving, "à bientôt, à bientôt, Marcelin Enjolras!" The carriage started to become faster and Nicolas was no match for the horses, but he didn't stop waving till the carriage was hidden from his view. And even afterwards he just stood there, looking into the horizon as if the carriage will suddenly turn around and the man he had the pleasure to call his best friend will jump out and greet him.

But it wasn't the case and after a while Nicolas dropped to the ground and started to cry. Nicolas always had a crush on the blonde. No, the word 'crush' isn't the best word to describe it. He was more in love with the blonde than anything. He was also grateful to him. Grateful because he saved his life.

Marcelin was from a wealthy family, Nicolas, no so much. His mother wasn't around. Rumor has it, she's a tart operating in Paris. Nicolas' father was the town drunk, and what a nasty man he was drunk. But when he was sober he wasn't that nicer. When Nicolas was just a boy, he would beat the poor boy with his belt. He was a horrible father. When Nicolas was just 1o he thought of ending it like the man who had jumped off the cliff to his death a few months earlier. Marcelin was very shy at the time and didn't make very many friends, to the dislike of his parents. He would often read or just look out into the sea and daydream of the perfect world.

One day Marcelin was kicking a rock around in the woods not too far from his house. His parents had forced him out to play with the neighborhood boys, but as always he, and also the boys, didn't want to. So he decided to pass the time kicking a rock around. The rock flew behind a blush and created a sound like it hit someone. A small whimper followed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't—" He had stopped before him sat little Nicolas with a bloody nose and a black eye. He had been crying. Tries stained his face and his eyes were all puffy and red. They become friends soon afterwards when they realized they were alike, they were both alone.

That encounter had changed Nicolas life for the better. He no longer had the desire to die with Marcelin by his side. His father had beaten him senseless the night before and Nicolas had felt like he just wanted to die. What Marcelin hadn't realized was that Nicolas had his father's shaving razor with him and he would have used it if it hadn't of been for him.

M. and Mme. Enjolras were happy their son found a friend for a few years but as Marcelin grew his only friend was the very poor Nicolas. They had hoped as their son grew he would become friends with the wealthier residents and leave behind his playmate for them, but such was not the case. As Marcelin matured into a handsome young teenager, he started to like the angry glances by his parents and what not. He was rebelling. That little thing caused Marcelin to see not everything the people with more authority said was right. That little rebellion was the beginning of a long string of uprisings. Their friendship made Marcelin what he is today.

Nicolas was always happy to be with Marcelin. He followed him around like a puppy dog. Nic always had a crush on the blonde, but as they grew up, the crush became into an obsession. Marcelin seemed oblivious to it, but Nicolas never minded. They were friends, what would everyone else think if they went steady? What would their parents say? What would they do? Nicolas' father was bad enough in his beating without a reason, but what if he had a reason. There would be nothing stopping him from killing Nicolas because of his homosexual feelings.

There wasn't much to the town the Nicolas lived in. But there was a bar, given it was small. Nicolas tried to avoid it at all costs. He didn't want people to think he was following in his father's footsteps. But, this is a special occasion; his best and only friend was gone. Nicolas sat down at a table near the door and ordered a wine. It was the first glass in a line of many.

Marcelin Enjolras' hands and arms still were shaking after what he had just done. He still couldn't believe that he was the reason Grantaire had almost ended his life. It was almost ironic, in a way. Enjolras couldn't take it anymore; he ducked into a nearby alley and fell to the ground. Tears started to stream down his face faster.

He had decided a long time ago that the man he had once called Nicolas was no more. But in his heart, he didn't want to believe in that. He could still see in Grantaire's eyes the man he once knew, once loved. They still shined like they did when Enjolras approached him. Yet, for the longest time, Enjolras had written it off as coincidence. They were not the same person. And they were not. One was a playful, energetic, almost happy teenager; the other, a bitter cynical drunk.

No, Enjolras is right they are not the same and never again shall they be the same. Nicolas is dead. But, that couldn't help Enjolras' old feelings for him. Nicolas was his best friend and more than that. They had grown so close and went through so much together, Enjolras couldn't help it. He had grown to love the man. He tried not to let his sadness show when he left for Paris but when he was safely in the carriage, away from Nicolas' comforting eyes, he had broken down.

"No," Enjolras muttered. "No, I can't. I must stay strong for Patricia."


End file.
